What Alise Said: To speak, to connect, to trust

It was either a Thursday or a Friday night, depending on the year. That detail may seem small, but for me, it defined an entire chapter of my life. Fridays were for Gold Company. Thursdays, Black Company. Both were part of Yew Tree Youth Theatre, a place that helped shape the person I became.

 

I joined at 15, unsure of myself, full of awkward energy and curiosity. At first, it was just something to do after school or work, a creative outlet, a chance to meet new people. But it quickly became more than that. So much more. Yew Tree didn’t just teach me how to act. It taught me how to exist. How to show up. How to be seen.

 

Gold Company on Friday nights was where it all began. Those early years were full of discovery. We laughed a lot, we stumbled through scenes, we figured out how to speak from our stomachs instead of our throats. It was raw, chaotic, joyful. We were kids, playing at storytelling, but there was so much honesty in it. It was a space where we could try, fail, grow, and be supported through it all.

 

Eventually I moved up to Black Company on Thursday nights. That felt like a shift. The energy was older, the work a little more intense. We were rehearsing Shakespeare, devising ensemble pieces, pushing ourselves to go deeper. That group challenged me. It taught me how to stretch beyond what I thought I could do. It taught me how to take feedback, how to really listen, and how to give everything to something just because it mattered to me.

 

Along the way I made friendships that I still carry with me today. These weren’t just school friends or people I saw once a week. These were people who knew me in a way few others did. People who had seen me cry before a performance, or laugh until I couldn’t breathe during warmups, or wait with me in the dark after a rehearsal when we didn’t want the night to end. These were people who became my chosen family.

And yes, there were relationships too. The kind of intense, fragile, beautiful teenage romances that left you wondering what love really meant. Some of them hurt. Some of them taught me things I didn’t know I needed to learn. I often wish I’d known better ways to communicate back then. I wish we all had. We deserved more space to say what we felt, to understand each other, to be understood. But yew tree gave us the start of that language. It gave us the safety to feel things deeply and to express them without apology.

 

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about those nights. About the scripts, the shows, the pre-show nerves, the long walks to the bus stop. I remember the rehearsal rooms, the smell of paint, the chaos of tech runs, the feeling of being part of something real. I remember the circle before a performance, the silence before the first line, the applause, the after-show comedown, the hugs. Always the hugs.

 

Yew Tree Youth Theatre wasn’t just where I learned to perform. It was where I learned to speak, to connect, to trust. It taught me about resilience and community. It gave me people I’ll love for the rest of my life.

 

Now some of those same friends are still around. Only now, instead of standing beside each other in blackout transitions, we’re grabbing a quick pint after work, catching up about life, still somehow holding that same closeness we found all those years ago in the middle of rehearsals.

 

From Friday nights in Gold Company to Thursday nights in Black Company. From scripts and costumes to real-life jobs and rented flats. From line runs to pint glasses. Some things change, but some bonds hold firm.

 

Yew Tree Youth Theatre gave me more than memories. It gave me my people. It gave me myself. And I will never stop being grateful for that.